Passionate Amber
by Al-Saiduq
Summary: Fushimi has been haunted by dreams of a certain figure every night. He would wake up each night without any recollection of that figure in his dreams. Only the colour of passionate amber eyes that glowed like flames. SaruMi


_A/N: I absolutely adore the piece 'Eyes of a Blue Dog' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and it pushed me to write this piece. This just has a twist to the story and I just- _

_K Project (c) GoRA and GoHands_

_Concept (c) Gabriel Garcia Marquez_

* * *

One time, he was drawing in the sand with a twig, probably from a nearby tree. His legs were splayed out in front of him, dirtying his khaki shorts. On his chubby knees was a bandaid, probably from falling recently. He wore a white and blue striped shirt that day. Yesterday he wore a tux. The reason wasn't really relevant. Tonight, he was wearing a white, crew neck shirt and dark green shorts. At that point, Fushimi began to ponder the significance of his clothing. He could never remember the figure's face when he wakes up every morning. He only remembered one thing from this person.

"Saru, do you think we'll ever meet?" He asked for the first time since these ridiculous dreams started.

Fushimi said nothing in response. Only holding his beloved close.

He didn't want to entertain the thought of meeting someone he has fallen in love with in his dreams several times. He did not want to cheat on his love for Misaki, even if he was falling in love with a dream.

"Saru, I'm real, y'know?" The faceless figure told him, as if being able to read his mind.

"Tch. Whatever." The figure smiled at his reluctance to accept the likeliness of the truth being real. It was a soft, tender smile. All he remembered from that night, like all others, were the amused, amber eyes that looked at him with such love.

* * *

"You bastard, get the fuck out of my face!" Yatagarasu shouted at the top of his lungs from across the park. Within his line of vision, he saw the familiar dark, messy hair along with the neat, official-looking uniform of Scepter 4. The shorter male pointed his bat at his former best friend, as if urging for a challenge, or threatening him. Either one, Saruhiko sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

"Misaki~ I really don't have the energy for this either. Do you really have nothing better to do than hang out with a bunch of deliquents and call out to me so lovingly?" He teased at his beloved, although his teasing didn't have the same bite as it usually did.

He was tired. He had overslept from trying to collect his dream again in hopes of getting a better look at the figure that haunted his dreams for nights on end. But to no avail. He'd never be able to visualize that dream without being in REM sleep. For months, he'd been haunted by passionate amber that glowed like flames. Those flame-like eyes ignited Fushimi to fall for the person of his dreams, despite proclaiming his love for Misaki.

And he'd slowly hate himself for falling for a dream when he worked so hard to gain the affection - turned hate - on Yata. He had always loved the boy since their middle school days, even enduring HOMRA for his sake. Now, he found himself obsessing over passionate amber eyes.

'Misaki has amber coloured eyes as well.' A voice in his mind would remind him. But whenever he would see Misaki, they would hold murderous intent, not tender care.

And it pained him to see the man he loved to share a feature as the being he loved in his dream.

"HAAAH? Who the fuck gives you loving looks? I don't give a shit if you don't have energy or whatever, you damn Blues are in my way!" The Red vanguard screamed, charging forward on his skateboard with his bat equipped at hand.

"What a pain." He murmured under his breath. Fushimi dismissed his subordinates with one hand and unsheathed his saber with the other. His exasperated face evolved into a sinister one, with his lips curving upwards to form a demented grin. "Bring it on, Mi~Sa~Ki~~"

Yes, this was reality; looking into the same eyes that he loved.

* * *

"Saru, didya find me yet?" The figure asked, chuckling when he responded with a wordless shake of the head. "Figures."

Tonight, the figure was naked from his upper arm down to his toes. His shoulder to his head were darkened by the dimness of the room, the shadows cloaking the figure's identity.

"Can I see you?" He asked, hesitantly.

"You already are, dumbass." The figured told him, a teasing smile to his tone.

"Can I... Touch you?" He asked, growing more hesitant.

"Sure."

Saruhiko's right hand reached out to the figure before him, running his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin. From his eyes, he could see the figure was fair skinned, the dim, orange lighting illuminating the colours onto it. From his fingers, he could feel a smooth texture. There were bumps here and there, as if the figure had been injured and healed before, leaving scars to adorn the his body. His fingers traced upwards, moving from the forearm to the upper arm, the feeling of lean muscles tingling at his fingertips.

Up, up, up.

His fingers landed on the figure's shoulders and stopped.

"Do you know me now, Saru?"

* * *

"Fushimi, wake up!" Awashima snapped at the third-in-command. The officer snapped out of his daze to see his superior before his desk, glaring at him. "Please do your work properly. You've been spaced out for nearly thirty minutes now and it is not reflecting well on Scepter 4." She nagged at him, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." He droned, adujsting himself to sitting up straight in his office chair.

When the heartless woman walked out his office, Fushimi slumped back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes below his rimmed glasses, groaning.

It had been the third month he dreamed of those eyes. He had considered seeking professional help but decided against it. He wanted to know the identity of the person who took refuge his dreams for many nights. Every morning, Fushimi would wake up to forgetting everything in his dreams the night before. Everything except the colour of those eyes and how they'd look at him with such love that he wishes for from his beloved.

Accessing the Shizume City database, he searched files of people who'd stand out to him. No one had, so far, in his search.

Folding his hands over his desk and leaning his chin against it, the officer whispered, "Who are you."

* * *

He was laying down in bed with his head on the figure's lap. Gentle fingers combed through his hair carefully.

"Saruhiko?"

"Hm?"

"This is my last night."

Fushimi sat right up and looked at the figure incredulously. The figure merely smiled at him and caressed his cheeks. "...This isn't some session where you have a 'last' day. Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure." The figure shrugged. It was then that Fushimi realized that they were no where, only in the void of space. It was only him and the figure.

"If you're real..."

"And I am."

"Then tell me, is your real self looking for me..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Like how I'm searching for you?"

The figure smiled sadly and leaned forward to press a ghost of a kiss on his lips.

"No. You're the only one who can remember when day breaks."

* * *

Yata Misaki woke up that morning. He yawned and stretched in bed. The man sat up and rubbed at his head, looking over at his alarm clock.

"It's still too damn early." He murmured, tossing his sheet off and jumping out of bed to start his day.

The petite male had no recollection of his dream, yet another night.


End file.
